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Monday, June 21, 2010

Shut. Up.

I think constantly, then have nothing to say. Think, think, think. Even during sleep. To the point of exhaustion.

SO where is my pay off for this arduous activity? Where are my answers to these problems I ponder so endlessly? I am putting the work in, surely. At this rate, I should be racking up overtime. Bonuses and the like. Fruit baskets. Paid vacation days.

Whom should I speak to about this injustice? It stands to reason that there would be laws against this type of indentured servitude...

Even if the culprit is the riding crop wielding, S&M heeled bitch in my own mind... Surely I can take her to court? Sue the spikes off that black vinyl suit? Right about now, I'd even agree to settle out of court...

These thoughts, they go in circles. They never lead anywhere. No universal truth. No divinely-inspired answer. Not even a difinitive "This is what you should do with your free time on Tuesday."

Only more questions. Churning at the grindstone. Pushing like Sampson--round and round and round and round.

Circles. Universally a symbol of the beauty of the everlasting, never ending, ad infinitum.